


can't deny my love.

by dougeiffel



Category: Neon Genesis Evangelion
Genre: F/M, and if i can't find the niche i will fill it!!, i just truly want to see someone be gentle with misato for once, i literally cannot avoid these two in my brain they live in there now, knocking on my skull always saying horny shit, this will be updated! i will finish it! i swear!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:55:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25331248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dougeiffel/pseuds/dougeiffel
Summary: what's going on in your head now? / was it something I said?
Relationships: Kaji Ryouji/Katsuragi Misato
Kudos: 15





	can't deny my love.

“What are you afraid of?”

Misato scoffed. It was childish, but she knew what the risks were. She knew the distraction would be just that -- a distraction. Shinji floated to the front of her mind, all wide eyes.

“I’m not afraid of you.”

Kaji smiled. He looked at ease, which annoyed her further. “Sure doesn’t seem like it sometimes.”

She sipped her drink, some orange monstrosity Kaji had ordered for her. She wanted a beer. She wanted to be sitting on the floor of her apartment with Shinji and Asuka, mediating their adolescent blow-ups, if they were even speaking. She wanted Ritsuko to be here, to keep her on the ground. She wanted something else, something darker -- but that was not prescient, at the moment.

“You didn’t invite Ritsuko?”

“I did,” he leaned back. “She said she was busy.”

A date, Misato knew. A date Ritsuko had asked her to keep a secret, with a delightful little technician who they both liked, though in different capacities. She also knew she would be alone with Kaji, if she accepted his invitation. She wondered, for a moment, if that was self-sabotage, then decided it didn’t matter.

“How’s work?”

“Oh, you know.” A glint in his eye. “A challenge, as always.” He stretched, untucked shirt revealing the barest strip of skin. She averted her eyes, after a few seconds. “I could use some stress relief.”

“I’m not going to dance with you, Ji.”

He puffed out his bottom lip, chin in his right hand. He was a little more drunk than usual, and thus off-balance. “Please. You’re no fun to talk to.”

Misato narrowed her eyes. “Do you think that increases your chances?’

“No.”

She ordered a shot of something that burned, and stared Ryoji in the eye, searching for something that refused to come to the surface. “Dance with me, then.”

They did not hold hands on their way to the dancefloor, as all the other couples who had left the bar did. They didn’t speak to each other, as friends would. They exchanged a cursory glance of approval when the song changed, signaling that they would at least stay for the next three minutes.

Misato did not enjoy dancing, and it was not because she lacked the talent. She felt like a spectacle in a way that made her uncomfortable -- that adolescent inclination towards believing you’re the center of attention ate at her, made her feel watched. She always felt watched, now.

Kaji seemed to be a natural, completely un-self conscious in a way that made Misato feel a rising bitterness, like indigestion. He locked eyes with her from two feet away, and the switchboard lit up. The bitterness stayed, but it was directed at herself now. Kaji grabbed her by her waist. She gasped and tried to escape, but he held her waist in one hand and her left wrist with the other. He leaned his head down to her, dangerously close.

“I said dance with _me_.”

She glared up at him, trying to hold herself together in the sobriety that was rapidly leaving her behind. “I’ll do what I like.”

She did not resist when he began to guide her, eventually succumbing to the feeling of being led by someone more knowledgeable, and she found herself chest to chest with him in the crush of people. She felt that spotlight she always felt, that need to perform. Kaji knew who she was, or who she had been, if they were different, but in this moment she was someone else. She felt like she had to be someone else, a not-Misato that could dance, or speak her mind without the lubrication of alcohol. She felt trapped in her body, like she had to do something to prove she was not who he thought she was, who he knew, someone who had broken him.

“What’s going on in your head?”

Kaji had leaned down to murmur in her ear, making her twitch in surprise. She felt exposed; suddenly the fact that she had taken her jacket off felt like being naked in a knife fight. His breath on her collarbone made her feel feverish and raw, like her eyes were going to roll back in her head.

“How is that your business?”

He grinned. “Stop thinking,” he said into her ear. He brushed her pulse with his mouth, a ghost of a time they both remembered. “Please.”

Unable to maintain her train of thought for long enough to convince herself it was a bad idea, she closed her eyes and let him lead her away from her own thoughts. It was a blur of lights and bass, Kaji’s body and her own breathing. There came a point where her sober brain realized they were in a darker corner of the dance floor, doing things sober people would consider impropriety in the daylight. He had sucked a dark line across her collarbone in a way that made her blush from the feet up before she had noticed her was working his way up her neck. She felt good, and powerful, and like it did not matter who she was. She was wanted.

“Don’t you have a hotel room down the street?” Misato breathed. She had never held any pretense when asking for what she wanted in this way. Sex made sense. Sex, she understood. Sex yeilded results, and on occasion, kindness.

“Yes.”

They made eye contact in a blaze of dancefloor smoke and she felt herself become more sober, but even that did not put her off her path.

“Please fuck me.”

He did not smile, but something in his eyes caught the light. “Now, you know I wouldn’t do that, Misato.”

She rolled her eyes, flicking her hand. “What do you want me to call it?”

He said nothing, taking her hand and messily kissing the tips of her fingers. “Do you want to leave?”

“Yes.”


End file.
